


Dear Patrick

by Bandsx_xbands



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, M/M, Peterick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 13:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7316461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bandsx_xbands/pseuds/Bandsx_xbands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete's bad days are outnumbering his good days. Patrick is his only hope, but what if he destroys that hope? What if he destroys Patrick?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Patrick

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 3 hours. Whoops. I've had this idea for a while but didn't decided to start till now.
> 
> This is something I'm actually pretty proud of though. I hope you guys like it!

Pete hadn't had a very good day. Let alone a good week or month. There's been more bad days than good. He hasn't had a happy day in awhile. Of course he would sometimes fake a smile to avoid the awkward talk between him and one of his band mates. Especially Patrick. Patrick was constantly worried about Pete. Patrick knew of all the things ‘wrong’ with Pete, and always wanted to help even when Pete insisted that he was fine. Patrick was the only person who hadn't completely given up on him. It's not that Andy and Joe had, but Patrick was always there. 

The key slid through the lock and the tiny green light appeared. The handle was pressed down and the door opened. The small man took a step in making sure his luggage was inside the door so it would close. The light was switched on revealing two queen size beds, a decent size TV, a door leading to the washroom, a small but not too small closet and, at the opposite side of the room, was a big window that was centre on the wall with about 2 feet distance between each corner. The view was of Chicago and all the buildings. Some filled with light, other not.

Pete sighed and shuffled over to the bed, dropping his bags on the ground and falling face first onto it. He laid there for 10 minutes before rolling over onto his back. The ceiling was high, but the more he stared at it, the more he felt it closing in on him. He came back to reality and felt the comforter of the bed against his hands. It was soft and warm from the heat radiating off his body. He wished that he could climb under it, fall asleep and never wake up. Instead of doing that, he sat up. He slowly kicked off his shoes, picking them up and throwing them in the direction of the closet missing by a few feet. It was hard to care. 

He moved to the other end of the bed and rested his back against the headboard. He reached for the television remote, that was set neatly on the bedside table. He pressed the power button, allowing the bright picture to appear on the screen that was once black. He opened the guide, flipping through the channels before landing on a news network. The room door opened, and Patrick appeared in the doorway. 

“Hey Pete,” he said, pulling his suitcase over to the side of the other bed.

“Hey,” Pete said, his eyes not moving off the screen. Patrick stared intently at him for several seconds. 

“You okay? You don't really seem yourself lately.”

“I'm fine, Patrick,” he said, calmly trying to avoid the topic. He loved Patrick more than anything, but every time Pete tried to talk about his feelings, nothing came out. And every time Patrick got some words from Pete, it was always completely different from what he actually wanted to say. 

“It's just, you seem to become less of yourself with each day. I just want to know you're okay.”

“Patrick, you have to trust me, I'm fine, I have my bad days, but that's it,” Pete didn't like the thought of being dishonest with him.

“But you're not. I know you Pete, I know that you try to hide your feelings in fear of being hurt, but I'm not going to hurt you, in any way. If you'd just find a way t-”

“Patrick, no. There's a reason I keep these feelings bottled up. I don't want to hurt you. That thought is killing me.”

“But-” Patrick tried to say before being cut off once again.

“No,” Pete said, becoming frustrated, but not showing it in fear of scaring Patrick.

“Fine,” Patrick sighed, with a hint of disappointment.

Pete saw the sadness in Patrick's eyes, and shuddered at the sight of them. That was the exact situation Pete didn't want to see happen. Patrick stood up and made his way to the door. He opened it, pausing halfway and turned to Pete. 

“The guys and I were planning on getting a couple drinks. Did you want to come?”

Pete shook his head. He could feel tears wanting to fall, but he didn't let them. Patrick looked at the floor, biting his lip.

“Okay,” he said, quietly, just loud enough for Pete to hear him. He then stepped out and closed the door quietly. 

Pete looked at the door, out of all the things that made him broken, this was the worst. Patrick was his best friend. Pete felt like he hurt him in the most awful way. He wanted to be honest, but his fears of the events that were likely to follow, was eating away at him. He couldn't keep doing this to Patrick. It was only making things worse. He wanted to always stay with Patrick forever, but seeing the things he's doing to him were soul destroying and unbearable. He cannot keep doing this. He won't keep doing this. 

He searched, with his hands shaking the entire time, for a notepad. He pulled out a drawer with the nightstand and found one. He grabbed the pen sitting on top of the cabinet and began writing. He wrote so fast and messy, that he was afraid it would be illegible. He finished writing and signed his name at the bottom. He took one look at it before setting it down on the other bed. He stood up and approached the door. He took one last glance at the empty room, and then opened the door, shut the light off and walked out. 

An hour later, Patrick arrived back to the hotel. He came to Pete’s and his door. He stopped and then began to unlock the door. He opened it slowly and looked around. He switched the light on, and then noticed a single piece of paper on his bed. He walked to it, looking around. Pete wasn't here. Patrick picked the paper that was addressed to him. The handwriting was unmistakable. Pete was gone and had left this in his place. He sat down and began to read the letter.

///

Dear Patrick,

Let me just say I'm sorry. I'm sorry for coming into your life and fucking it up. You could have had a much better career instead of being stuck in this stupid band with me. I'm sorry that I can't give you what you deserve. You deserve to be happy. You deserve anything and everything, but I can't give that to you. I'm sorry I'm not the person you want me to be. I'm a really bad person and can't seem to do much right. I constantly invade your space and ruin your plans. I think I know what you need, but the truth is I don't. You can handle yourself, I know you can. I disappoint you a lot and constantly make you sad. I can't do that to you. Out of all the people I could do that to, you hurt the most. You're my benzedrine. I truly love you more than anything. You're the most talented, adorable, funniest, smartest, sensible guy I know. And your eyes. I swear to god I fall in love with you again and again every time I look into them. You saved my life that night on the roof of your hotel. Everything we've been through either brings a smile or tears and sometimes both to me. Thank you for those memories. I can't keep doing this to you. You're the balloon and I'm the anchor. You're a canary, I'm a coal mine. You can accomplish so many things and help so many people. But not with me. In the end, I would do it all again. You're my best friend.

I'm sorry every song’s about you  
Pete

///

At this point, Patrick was crying. A lot. He felt a void in his chest that hurt more than anything. It was becoming hard to breath. He couldn't be gone. He can't just do this. He has to be alive. He reread the letter over and over again. He checked the back and the empty spaces for some kind of secret code Pete could've left for him. Nothing.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. 

Patrick cried even harder now. If he ever thought he had hit rock bottom, he was wrong. Very wrong. This is rock bottom. The worst thing he could ever imagine. 

But then. 

He reread it much slower this time. “You saved my life that night on the roof of your hotel.”

That night came rushing back. That hotel. It was in Chicago overlooking Lake Michigan. It was a 10 minute drive across town. He let the letter slip out of his hands. He patted his jean pockets making sure his car keys were there. He then ran back out of the room. He ran to the elevators. None of them were close. Goddamnit, Patrick thought, waiting for a moment. He decided that this would take forever and ran towards the stairs. They had only been staying on the fifth floor and his car was parked on the second level of the parking garage. 

He ran down the stairs, nearly tripping on every other step. He somehow wasn't running out of breath though, but he knew he would pay for it later with his asthma. He reached level 2 of the parking garage and pushed through the big, heavy door with almost no trouble. He run towards his car, unlocking it with the keypad. He jumped in, quickly buckled the seatbelt and put the car in reverse. He sped through the lines of cars, tires squealing. He went down a level before making it onto the actual road. He knew the exact route to the building. He even sped a little. 

He finally came to the hotel. He parked quickly and really badly. He got out of his car almost like it barely stopped before doing so. He ran through the front revolving door and went straight to the emergency stairs, completely ignoring the receptionist who was yelling at him as he passed. He didn't hear a word she said. 

He climbed the stairs, taking two at a time. The last flight was the hardest, but once he got up there, it was definitely worth it. He busted through the door and felt the cold air hit his face. He searched around for a minute and then saw the black outline of a person that the moonlight had revealed. He knew it was him. He walked slowly up to him. He was sitting there with his legs swung over the edge, looking down at the ground below him. He walked directly behind the person.

He then sat down right beside Pete. He looked at him. Tears streaked his face. No one said anything. There was nothing to be said, but instead Patrick took Pete's hand in his. He squeezed his hand so he couldn't let go, but Pete wasn't planning on it anyway. Pete then leaned his head on Patrick's shoulder. 

The two remained in this position for an amount of time that felt like an eternity.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually started crying while writing the one part. So I hope it was worth it.


End file.
